


I Don't Normally Bother

by Topicabo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A lot of kissing, Breakfast, Flowers, Fluff, Gift Giving, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Mycroft thinks too much, Mystrade Valentine's Calendar 2018, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 03:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13825917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topicabo/pseuds/Topicabo
Summary: Mycroft doesn't really do Valentine's Day. But he'll make the exception for Greg.





	I Don't Normally Bother

**February 3rd**

 

 “You’ll have a conference call with the financial secretary at one. I believe he wants your opinion on proposed tax amendments for next year.”

 

“Yes, fine.”

 

“The meeting with the ministry of defense will be on Monday. They say only an hour and a half, but I’ve kept your schedule clear for at least three, depending how things go.”

 

“Very well.”

 

“…I believe Lord Pembry wishes to have a word with you today. I said he could try calling, but I made no promises.”

 

“Hm…”

 

“And apparently the Prime Minister will be stepping down as of next week. Bit sudden, but I understand that Lord Buckethead is the favored replacement.”

 

Mycroft finally looked up from his laptop, eyebrow arched. “Considering the state of politics these days, it would not surprise me if that were true.”

 

“Apologies, Mr. Holmes,” Anthea said airily, eyes on her phone screen as she scrolled through his agenda. “I wasn’t entirely sure I had your attention.”

 

Mycroft thought he ought to be a little annoyed at her insinuation, if not for the fact that she was right. He humphed quietly instead.

 

“I suppose I am somewhat distracted.”

 

“Everything all right, sir?”

 

“Yes, of course. It’s of no concern.”

 

Anthea lifted her eyes with a frown, searching his face. “Then there is something?”

 

Mycroft was slow to answer, and Anthea too shrewd to not notice it.

 

“A small matter,” he finally admitted.

 

“Perhaps something I could assist with?”

 

Mycroft hesitated once more. “Are you still involved with that designer?”

 

The puzzled shift in Anthea’s expression indicated she hadn’t expected the conversation to take that turn. “Yes. About seven months now.”

 

“And I take it you will be spending Valentine’s Day together?”

 

“We’ve rented a private boat for the night, actually. Dinner and drinks on the Thames.”

 

“I see.” Mycroft didn’t realise he’d fallen silent until Anthea spoke up again.

 

“Did you and the Inspector have plans as well?”

 

“…Gregory asked me this morning if we would be doing anything.”

 

“And?”

 

“I had no answer. I hadn’t even remembered it was coming up until he reminded me. It’s not a day I have much investment in.”

 

Anthea’s realisation made itself known in the slight lift of her eyebrows.

“Did you happen to mention that to Mr. Lestrade?”

 

Mycroft’s mouth twitched into a grimace. “I might have said something to that effect, yes.”

 

“And how did he respond?”

 

“He - said it was fine. That he didn’t mind if we just gave the day a skip.” Mycroft looked down at his hands, fiddling with the ring on his finger.

 

“But?” Anthea prompted.

 

“He looked… disappointed. He hid it well enough, but-“

 

“But of course you noticed, didn’t you, sir?”

 

Mycroft nodded.

 

“I take it then you’ve reconsidered your stance?”

 

“In a word. However, therein lies the issue. It’s seems I’m rather out of my depth when approaching something such as this.”

 

“I would imagine Mr. Lestrade is the kind of man to value intention over price or flashiness. I’m sure he would appreciate any effort you made, even if was just a quiet evening together.”

 

“Yes, he would.” Mycroft paused, feeling that clenching sensation his chest he’d come to associate with Greg. Something skittish, uncertain. And cherished. “But I would like to show him more than mere effort.”

 

Mycroft didn’t raise his eyes. It gave him a much-needed degree of separation from… well, his own honesty, he supposed. The sudden buzz of the office landline was almost a welcome interruption.

 

Anthea glanced at the time. “I believe that may be Lord Pembry now.”

 

“Most likely. Do you mind?”

 

“Not at all. I’ll tell him you’ve stepped out.” Anthea’s heels clicked as she left the room, stopping for a moment in the doorway. “Try not to overthink it, sir,” Anthea said, a glimpse of a reassuring smile before she closed the door behind her.

 

Mycroft sighed, sinking back against his chair. His eyes flicked to his laptop screen, at the timetables for the next week. He reached out for the track pad, taking the cursor over to one of the minimised windows and clicking it to full view.

 

**50 Romantic Ideas For Celebrating Valentine’s Day**

He pulled a face. To be reduced to searching for advice from what amounted to a digitised gossip magazine. Most of the recommendations he’d seen so far were pedestrian at best - barely a whiff of creativity to be found. And the ones with any kind of imagination made him cringe at the thought of attempting them.

 

Listlessly, he continued reading down the page with disinterest.

 

**Valentine’s themed balloons.**

 

_Ugh._

 

**A romantic scavenger hunt.**

 

_Unnecessarily complicated._

 

**Naughty printable vouchers.**

 

_Dear Lord. Is that really something people do?_

 

Mycroft slowed his scrolling as a few bullet points drew his attention.

 

**A bouquet of flowers is always a classic choice.**

 

_That isn’t a completely terrible idea. A bit cliché though._

**Surprise them with a hand-selected assortment of their favorite treats.**

_Hm. I wonder…_

 

**Pamper them with a luxurious massage.**

_That’s… rather appealing, actually._

 

Mycroft leaned forward, stuck mental gears finally shuddering into motion. These suggestions were far too simplistic. But they were easily expanded on. With an adjustment here and there…

 

The start of a smile formed at the edge of Mycroft’s mouth.

 

Suddenly, he felt much more optimistic about this whole venture.

 

 

**February 5th**

 

It’d been an unremarkable kind of day. Some paperwork, a meeting with the DCI, and a short interview with a witness that didn’t look as though it was going to add anything to the related case. Not much to do except drift through the hours before heading home to what would most likely be a night with takeaway in front of the telly, and then getting to bed early for lack of anything better to do.

 

Greg was just dialing for the takeaway part of the night when his doorbell buzzed. He looked towards the sound with a frown, thinking and coming up with no idea of whom it might be. Another buzz sounded, so he pocketed his phone and headed out into the hallway.

 

Mycroft lifted his eyes when the door opened, a smile following the next second. “Gregory.”

 

“Myc?” Greg’s own smile was instantaneous, though a bit confused. “What are you doing here? You’re usually still working right now.”

 

“As it happens, my schedule was rather light today.” There was a ripple under his composure as he spoke, gone too quickly for Greg to read. “I wondered if perhaps you might like some company for the evening.”

Greg’s smile broadened further. “Yeah, of course. I was gonna order some food. You want?”

 

Mycroft nodded, their shoulders brushing as he entered. Greg followed once he’d relocked the door, finding Mycroft in the living room shrugging off his coat. The sight cheered Greg in a way that he wasn’t quite ready to express out loud.

 

They didn’t regularly spend time at Greg’s flat. Mycroft’s place was more convenient since it was closer to both their offices, not to mention it was nicer in general. But Greg liked when they could change things up a bit. It felt good watching Mycroft make himself comfortable, taking up space as though he belonged there.

 

“Thai?”

 

“Fine with me,” Mycroft replied, draping his coat over the top of Greg’s armchair.

 

Greg made the call, knowing both of their preferred orders from memory. He noticed Mycroft typing quietly on his phone while he did. He might not have realised Greg was watching. It might have been why he allowed his expression to slip.

 

Seeing it, Greg suddenly found the name for what he’d seen at the front door.

 

“Thought you were done with work,” Greg said after ringing off. He walked over to where Mycroft was.

 

“Oh, I am.” Mycroft set the phone aside, his expression wiped by the time he looked at Greg. “I was just seeing to a small personal matter.” Whatever he meant to say next faltered when Greg’s arms gently folded around him.

 

“Really am glad you came over,” Greg said, hands coming to rest on Mycroft’s lower back. He felt when Mycroft relaxed, uncertainty cracking through the smoothed over features.

 

“I hope I wasn’t too… presumptuous in showing up like this. I know it’s not how we normally do things-”

 

“Myc, it’s fine. All fine.” Greg pressed in, flush against Mycroft. He heard Mycroft’s breath stutter. It made him smile. “Think I’d like if you did this more often.”

 

Mycroft’s cheeks had gone a bit red. He searched Greg’s eyes, quietly thoughtful.

 

“You would?”

 

Kissing Mycroft seemed the best response. Words were all well and good, but with Mycroft, actions were louder. Greg was always happy to remind him of the difference.

 

It went both ways, too. It felt as though there were pages upon pages of meaning just in Mycroft’s barely there sigh, in the tremor of his fingers as they eased into Greg’s hair.

_I know, Myc. It’s the same for me too._

 

 

Greg ignored the doorbell when it buzzed the first time. On the second buzz, Mycroft broke the kiss, having some trouble speaking as Greg chased after his lips.

 

“Gregory, the door-“

 

“They can come back.”

 

“It might be the food.”

 

“They never get here that fast.”

 

Another buzz. Mycroft finally got his hands against Greg’s chest and gently pushed him back. “Door, Gregory,” he said, playful in his sternness.

 

Greg let out a frustrated groan. He darted forward, grinning as he stole one more kiss. “Be right back.”

 

Whoever it was, Greg intended to have them piss off as quickly as possible. But the notion was sidetracked when he opened the door and found a smartly dressed young man standing in front of him.

 

“Mr. Lestrade?”

 

Greg hesitated, glancing at the bundle in the man’s arms that was definitely not a bag of Thai food. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

 

“I have a delivery for you, sir.”

 

“…You sure about that?”

 

“Certainly.” The young man indicted the inside of Greg’s flat with a tilt of his head. “Would you like me to bring this inside for you?”

 

“Oh – no, I can manage, thanks. Who’s this from?”

 

“I’m afraid I’m not permitted to say,” the man said cheerfully as he handed the item over to Greg. “But I believe the card may shed some light on it. Have a good evening, sir.”

 

“Yeah… Thank you.”

 

Greg closed the door, staring down at the arrangement of red and green. Long stems resting in an intricate crystal vase. Little bursts of crimson buds near the tops, with fully bloomed blossoms lower down the stalks. The white card was easy to spot, the words visible without even having to pluck it free.

 

 

  ** _For one who was never expected,_**

****

**_Who gives more than is required and deserves more than he receives,_ **

****

**_Whose mere presence has become my greatest comfort and joy;_ **

****

**_This gift is not enough to show what you are to me,_ **

****

**_But I hope it will suffice for now._ **

****

 

Below that, a post script.

 

 

**_As you have been my sword, I am forever your shield._ **

****

**_M_ **

****

 

Mycroft had shed his jacket by the time Greg returned. “Who was it?” he asked casually, rolling up his left sleeve to match his right.

 

“Myc… you-“

 

“Hm?” Mycroft looked up, his gaze flicking from Greg’s face to the flowers he was carrying. “Goodness. Just what have you gotten?”

 

Greg was silent as Mycroft approached to examine the bouquet.

 

“How lovely,” Mycroft murmured, skimming a fingertip along one of the petals. “Did you acquire a secret admirer of some kind?” He met Greg’s eyes, not quite restraining his smile. “Should I be worried?”

 

Greg opened his mouth, trying to speak. He closed it again. Moving past Mycroft, he set the vase down on the coffee table. Mycroft’s innocent expression softened as Greg came back to him.

 

Silently, Greg reached out. Mycroft’s lips parted, unknown words dissolving as Greg kissed him. It lengthened, deepened. Greg placed a hand over Mycroft’s nape while Mycroft curled his fingers into Greg’s shirt. Both keeping the other there.

 

Just there.

 

When it ended, they were both panting a little. Mycroft opened his eyes, blinked - Greg had missed when he’d closed them. “You like them then?”

 

Greg laughed, breathless. “Yes, I like them. I more than like them. Thank you.”

 

Mycroft made a sound, like a little release of air. “I’m glad.”

 

Greg chuckled, gently bumping their noses together.

 

“What kind of flowers are they?”

 

“Gladioli. The most obvious choice, really.”

 

“Heh.” Greg looked at Mycroft, fond but mystified. “Is this because of Valentine’s? You changed your mind?”

 

“Hm? Isn’t that more than a week away? Hardly seems related to this.”

 

“Myc, come on. Tell me.”

 

Mycroft quieted, another flash of something uncertain. Eventually, he smiled, lifting his hand to Greg’s cheek, tracing Greg’s lips. “I’m – reconsidering my views, let’s say.”

 

There was more to it. Greg just had that sense. But honestly, it didn’t seem like something he needed to worry about. Patience worked wonders with Mycroft, and Greg knew from experience the payoff would be worth it.

 

With an amused huff, Greg leaned in, nuzzling under Mycroft’s chin. He moved his mouth, seeking out that one place just under the jawline that only he was allowed to know about…

 

Mycroft gasped, head tilting back. Greg hummed approvingly.

 

“Fine by me,” he said.

 

Their Thai food did arrive shortly after that. And if the deliveryman gave Greg’s disheveled clothes and noticeable love bites odd looks while he paid, Greg didn’t mind. He just took the bag, gave a wink, and closed the door after him.

 

**February 8 th**

Greg looked it up the next day, after Mycroft had risen early, kissed him goodbye, and headed off to work. As soon as he’d closed his front door he’d gone for his phone and started Googling. He’d had a feeling he would just confirm what he already knew, but he still wanted to double-check.

 

Gladiolus, also known as sword flowers or sword lilies because of their shape. The webpage gave all sorts of general facts and history, but Greg was more interested in the symbolism behind the flower.

 

Honor. Strength of character. Determination. Integrity.

 

And if the colour was red: love and passion.

 

Greg had been carrying a bubbly sort of giddiness with him every day since then. It felt bigger than what he normally felt, more expansive, more meaningful.

 

That night had clarified many things for him.

 

A few mornings later, Greg was just starting up his computer when he heard the knock on his office door.

“Hey, Boss?”

 

“Yeah?” Greg glanced at Sally, noticing the paper bag in one hand and the disposable cup in the other. “What’s this about?”

 

She held the bag up, giving it a little shake. “You got a delivery.”

 

_Delivery for you, sir._

 

A little thrill fizzed in Greg’s chest.

 

“What is it?”

 

She shrugged, passing the bag and cup to him. “Don’t know. It got here just a few minutes ago. The guy said it was for Gregory Lestrade.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Since when are you Gregory?"

 

Greg fought to keep his expression neutral. He didn’t do very well. But there were only two people in the world that called him that, and Greg felt fairly certain this wasn’t from his Nan.

 

“Comes up sometimes,” Greg said, putting the bag on his desk. “Thanks, Sally. Think I know who it’s from.”

 

Sally watched him, brow crinkled in puzzlement. Then, her eyes widened. “Oh.” She smiled. “Ohhhh.”

 

“Okay, out.”

 

“Wait, really? Mr. Posh is sending you presents now?”

 

“Sally-“

 

“Any sex stuff?”

 

“Out, NOW,” Greg demanded even as he fought back laughter.

 

Sally relented, throwing Greg a wink before she left. “Be at my desk if you need me.”

 

Soon as the door closed, Greg turned and all but tore open the bag. A savory aroma hit his nose the moment he did. He eagerly pulled out the foil container and worked off the cover.

 

“Oh, bloody perfect,” he said, looking over the arrangement. Scrambled eggs, bangers, bacon, tomatoes, and toast. He grabbed the cup and took a sip, groaning happily. French roast, right at the edge of too hot, with just a touch of sugar.

 

All other coffee was going to taste like crap after this.

 

He glanced back into the bag and reached for the second smaller sack he found.

 

Inside - a heart shaped donut, complete with red icing and pink and white sprinkles.

 

Nothing could have contained Greg’s grin right then. The idea of posh, proper Mycroft specifically picking out that cute frosted donut was just too much. His phone was out and autodialing Mycroft’s number the next moment. It was picked up almost immediately.

 

“Gregory.” The smile on Mycroft’s face was obvious with just that one word.

 

_God, like that. No one says it like you do._

“Hey. Got something I think I should be thanking you for.”

“I take the order has arrived then?”

 

“Yeah.” Greg’s heart seemed to spill over with warmth. “This is - sweet, Myc. Really. Thank you.”

 

Seconds passed; the slightest whisper of sound as Mycroft breathed in.

 

“You’re welcome.” Another pause followed. When Mycroft spoke again, it was low in Greg’s ear. “Are you free on Sunday?”

 

“Yeah. What are you thinking?”

 

“I’m thinking I wish to spend the evening with my hands on your skin.”

 

Greg shuddered fully, head to toe. “More of you `reconsidering your views`?”

 

“Yes.”

_Christ, Myc. How do you do this to me?_

“Sounds good.” Greg cleared his throat, took a deliberate breath.

 

He had to remind himself, still at work.

 

“Gotta say, think this donut is my favorite part.”

 

Mycroft chuckled, light and easy. “I’d hoped it would be. I wondered if it was a bit silly.”

 

“Nah. It’s perfect.”

 

  **February 11 th**

The candles flickered, soft in the darkness. They gave off the scent of wood, faintly sweet and earthy. Gentle, ocean-like music came from the speaker system.

 

Greg lie facedown on the bed, naked, eyes closed. He smiled drowsily as firm hands moved along his back, coaxing and drawing out a decade of tension. A comfortable weight straddled his hips, the clothed thighs flexing every so often as the fingers did their work.

 

They focused in on a particular place, discovering a stubborn knot near his shoulder. Greg grunted in discomfort.

 

“Breathe. Let me know if it’s too much.”

 

“M’fine.” Greg gritted his teeth while the fingers rolled and rubbed firmly at the spot. “Keep going.”

 

It took some patience and careful manipulation. Soon, the pain released, fading into a mild tenderness. Greg sighed as the pressure eased up into smooth, open-palm strokes.

 

“Thanks. Feels better.”

 

The weight shifted. Greg felt a gust of hot breath, lips brushing the back of his neck.

 

“Good,” Mycroft whispered.

 

His hands retreated, their touch immediately missed. Then they returned, coated in something that smelled floral. Greg couldn’t quite stifle his moan as warmth spread over his shoulders and back, seeping down to his bones.

 

“Mm... Myc, what’s-“

 

“Massage oil. Lavender. It’s been heated up.”

 

Greg tried to speak, but only managed something mumbled and indiscernible. Mycroft continued on, caressing, kneading. Arms, neck, feet, legs, arse. All the way from the tips of his toes to his fingers. More soft noises surfaced as time passed, often answered with an approving hum from Mycroft. Greg let them come, let Mycroft hear his appreciation.

 

He felt completely relaxed, cared for.

 

Like he was something to be cherished.

 

Greg had no idea how long it had been since Mycroft started. Thirty minutes, maybe an hour. He loved the mental image of it - Mycroft still in the waistcoat and trousers, hands roaming across Greg’s bare skin as he lay sprawled out on the mattress. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of Mycroft’s hands on him.

 

Greg’s hips were starting to twitch.

 

Mycroft noticed.

 

“Do you want more of this?” he asked gently, running his fingers down Greg’s sides. "Or do you want to turn over?”  

 

_Please…_

 

“Over.”

 

They moved, repositioning - Greg on his back, Mycroft at his right side. More oil, more warmth tingling into his skin. The cycle began again, Mycroft paying special attention to the places now uncovered to him.

 

Greg tried to keep his eyes open, to watch Mycroft’s gaze as it trailed after his hands. To see it lift, catching his own, smiling along with his lips.

 

A light brush over his nipple. Greg jerked, arching into it – the lazy current of desire solidifying, thrumming harder, sharper.

 

“That – Myc-“

 

Mycroft bent, mouth sealing over the nub. Wet, swirling heat. His hand slid down, trailing over Greg’s stomach, his thighs, wrapping around him, starting that perfect rhythm.

 

Greg’s head fell back, tossing restlessly against the pillow. He was soon heaving, crying out weak, whimpering sounds. His hands buried into Mycroft’s hair, holding his head steady. He dimly worried he was gripping too hard.

 

He heard a chuckle ghost against his chest. He looked down.

 

Sharp eyes, all icy blues and greys. They burned now - dark, gentle embers. Adoring Greg. Drinking in every part of him as if to never forget.

 

Greg’s heart burned with those eyes.

 

“Whatever you want,” Mycroft said, voice low and breathless. “Tell me. Show me.”

 

More. More.

 

Greg couldn’t cope any longer.

 

He tugged at Mycroft, pulling him up, side-by-side, face-to-face. He guided Mycroft’s hand back into place, where he needed it. “T-there.” The rhythm resumed, and Greg nearly sobbed in relief. “ _There.”_

He was burning all over now. Quivering with it, writhing, panting. Sweet fire eating through his thoughts, speeding his heartbeat, snaking through his body. Mycroft stared into his face as he was consumed, watching every moan and tremor.

 

Watching Greg’s pleasure.

 

“Kiss me,” Greg begged, gasping. He wanted Mycroft’s lips on his - to bite, to suck. Wanted Mycroft to take his mouth while Mycroft’s hand took him apart. To claim his breath and cries for his own. “Kiss me. Don’t stop. Kiss me. Myc-”

 

Their lips connected. Their tongues met.

 

Mycroft’s hand sped up.

 

The fire flared, overflowed, spilled its confines. It blazed and licked through him, shorting out his senses. His body became heat, a pulse.

 

Bathed in white flame.

 

Then, just at the edge of his awareness - swallow breaths against his neck, desperate rocking movements. Someone clinging to him, gasping, stiffening. New heat splashing on his skin.

 

Greg came back, breath by breath, slowly returning to the present, regaining control. He looked over, found Mycroft curled against him, panting into his shoulder. His trousers lay open, his softening cock still loosely gripped in his hand.

 

“Myc…”

 

Mycroft stirred, turning his head to meet Greg’s eyes. “Gregory.” He clumsily tried to sit up. “Was that – did you enjoy-?”

 

His waistcoat had a streak of come staining it. His face was pinkened, his hair in disarray.

 

He was gorgeous.

 

Greg gathered Mycroft down again, nudging their lips together. Just a gentle press of their mouths again and again.

 

“I’m good. Really good.” He pulled back, watching Mycroft’s face. “You okay?”

 

Mycroft went still, just breathing in and out. Gradually, he relaxed into Greg’s arms, a fine tremble going through his limbs.

 

“Yes. Good.”

 

Greg’s heart seemed to squeeze.

 

“Come see me on the fourteenth,” he said, quiet. “Doesn’t matter what we do, just – I want you with me.”

 

To his surprise, Mycroft nodded without a pause.

 

“I’d already planned on it.”

 

Greg’s surge of happiness was so acute, it was a wonder he didn’t shake with it. He smiled. Kissed Mycroft again.

 

“Good.”

 

  **February 14 th**

 

Mycroft stepped out of his car, pulling his coat a bit tighter around himself. The temperature had dropped once the sun had started to set. He’d probably want to think about wearing a scarf for tonight. He’d see about one for Greg as well.

 

His heart fizzed with anticipation on the way to his front door. He would take the next hour and a half to get ready, then greet Greg when he arrived at seven thirty. Mycroft had made reservations at a lovely French restaurant called Luzette’s in Soho. He couldn’t have been more cliché in his choice if he’d tried. He would have scoffed at the thought not long ago. Now, it felt right.

 

The appropriate end cap to all his efforts.

 

He smiled, lost in his thoughts as he let himself in. He would spare no expense tonight. The best wine, a secluded table away from the other diners, anything either of them wanted from the menu. Just for the privilege of sitting with Greg, staring into his eyes, hearing that rumbly laugh and knowing it was meant for his ears only.

 

Goodness, when had he turned so sentimental? He didn’t quite know what to do about it.

 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything about it.

 

The inside lighting caught his eye as he entered his flat. Or rather, the lack of it. The entranceway lights were usually set on a timer, but they’d not turned on. The darkness was driven back by strings of fairy lights, a fair amount of them. They were nestled against the walls, strung along the lower staircase banister, even wound around the low hanging light fixture on the ceiling.

 

He noticed the music the next second. Something soft, jazzy in tone. Strings instruments and piano. A velvety baritone voice echoing from further inside the flat.

 

And there, on the floor in the entryway – a single, red rose.

 

A little ways ahead of it, a red tulip.

 

Without a word, Mycroft shed his coat. He crouched and picked up the rose, rolling the stem between his fingers. His mind was strangely quiet as he also retrieved the next flower. He looked to his left, at the set of fairy lights that led off into the side hallway. The music seemed louder in that direction. Also: another rose on the ground just at its entrance.

 

He followed.

 

He picked up several more flowers as he went, always alternating from tulip to rose. The lights and the music led him to his library. The door was standing open. He was close enough now to understand the singer’s words.

 

 

_Unforgettable_

_In every way_

_And forever more, that's how you'll stay_

 

Inside, candles had replaced the fairy lights, sitting on various available surfaces. Mycroft’s two armchairs had been moved, pushed closer to the wall – a dining table and two new chairs stood in their place, plates and silverware arranged on its surface, one candle in the center. On the sideboard nearby, a wine bottle rested in a silver bucket, two glasses next to it.

 

The fireplace had been lit. Greg stood there, watching the flames sway, features illuminated in oranges and reds. He turned, even before Mycroft spoke - his smile shining, his eyes as well.

 

He held one last rose in his hand.

 

“Hey.”

 

A dark charcoal wool suit, a lighter knitted waistcoat with a sky blue button up underneath, the collar open to show the column of Greg’s throat. He was clean-shaven, hair styled back, looking nearly five years younger.

 

Mycroft would never forget that image, that moment of witnessing the utter perfection of the man before him.

 

“You okay, Myc?”

 

Mycroft started, pulling himself out of his head. “Yes, of course.” He carefully set down the flowers on one of the side tables. “I admit I’m a bit puzzled, though.”

 

Greg smiled. He stepped closer, added his rose to Mycroft’s collection. “I wanted to change things a bit for tonight. Keep it just you and me. Luzette’s will bring the food right to us; they’re on standby until we call it in. Already sent us the first bottle of wine too. They’ll take care of everything as long as we need them.”

 

“You – arranged all this?”

 

“Well, Anthea worked some magic with the restaurant owner, so that one’s thanks to her. But“-Greg gestured around the room-“the rest was me.” He looked at Mycroft, a little nervous, boyish even. “Thought about the last two weeks. It’s been a long time since Valentine’s been this special for me. I couldn’t let the day go by without giving you something back. Needed you to know what it meant to me. What you mean to me-“

 

Mycroft’s palms slid up the front edges Greg’s jacket to the lapels, taking hold of the fabric. He tugged Greg forward, tilted his head down past that slight difference in height for Greg’s mouth. He felt Greg’s surprise quickly fade, the slight sigh against his lips. Greg’s hands stole down to his arse, pulling their hips together.

 

“I know,” Mycroft whispered. “Without question. _I know_.”

 

Greg laughed out a breath, leaning up for another kiss. It was effortlessly warm and gentle. Mycroft’s heart ached from it.

 

“Oh, wait.” Greg stepped back, flushed and sheepish. “Sorry, I nearly forgot.” He fished inside his inner jacket pocket, pulling out a small, flat box. “Happy Valentine’s,” he said, seeming like he might glow with contentment as he passed it to Mycroft.

 

Air thickened in Mycroft’s chest, constricting on his heart. He swallowed against it, removing the little black lid. He blinked, and then again, not understanding the meaning of what he was seeing.

 

“I was going to wait. Worried you’d think it was soppy, giving you something like this on Valentine’s. But after everything you did, I changed my mind.”

 

Mycroft watched wordlessly as Greg picked out the silver key from the box. “Use it any time you want. Know my flat’s a bit rough compared to this one, but if you ever feel like it, it’s open to you.” He took Mycroft’s hand, pressed the cool metal into his palm and closed both their hands around it. “Be nice every so often if I could come home and find you there.”

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft’s voice cracked. He couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. His chest was too full, too heavy with something that made it hurt to breathe in and out. He jumped slightly when Greg’s thumb traced along his cheekbone just under his eye. It drew back wet.

 

“Myc? What’s this about?”

 

Mycroft reached up, his own fingers finding the trails of dampness. “Oh.” His eyes widened. He started to turn away, stammering. “Apologies, that’s not – I didn’t realise-“

 

“Myc. _Myc_.” Greg caught hold of his wrist, pulled him back. Arms folded around his waist – gently keeping him where he was.

 

“You’re fine. It’s all fine. Remember?”

 

Mycroft shuddered without meaning to. He breathed, trying to calm himself. Greg rubbed a slow circle on Mycroft’s back as he focused.

 

It made things much easier.

 

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

 

“Okay.” Greg kissed his cheek, let their foreheads rest together. “Okay.” Mycroft watched him close his eyes, breathing in sync with him. “Kinda hit on something big, didn’t we?”

 

He was trembling as well.

 

That’s right. Greg was the same, wasn’t he? It wasn’t just Mycroft. The embarrassment, his unseemly behavior - Greg was experiencing all those things in his own way as they fumbled along together.

 

And that was alright. It was alright if it was Greg there with him.

 

So long as it was Greg.

 

“Like you said,” Mycroft replied, letting that feeling expand in his chest again, breathing easy with it now, “it’s all fine.”

_You’re the one who makes it so, Gregory._

 

_My Gregory._


End file.
